Truth and Illusion
by HopefulNebula
Summary: When Trip starts losing his grip on reality, can T'Pol help him? T/T, COMPLETE at last!
1. Illusion

Title: Truth and Illusion

Author: HopefulNebula (HopefulNebula@hotmail.com)

Rating: PG

Summary: On an away mission, Trip begins to lose his grip on reality.  Can T'Pol help him before he goes totally mad? T/T (yay!).

Disclaimer: Forget about writing these.  I don't own Enterprise.

Feedback: Only if you read this. ;)

Spoilers: Broken Bow, Strange New World (so they're two old episodes.  So sue me if you're not Rick Berman.)

~~~~~

_"Truth and illusion.  Who knows the difference?" _

~~Edward Albee, _Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?~~_

~

            _"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but Really loves you, then you become Real."_

_            "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit._

_            "Sometimes. … When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."_

~~Marjery Williams, _The Velveteen Rabbit~~_

~~~~~

            The planet was supremely gorgeous.  The weather was temperate and sunny, holding steady at approximately 25 degrees Celsius.  The sky, however, was not the sapphire blue Trip Tucker was wont to see on days such as these, but instead a deep teal.  T'Pol, who was with him on the mission, had assured him that it was indeed normal for this planet, given its atmospheric content.  It was still unsettling for Trip to see something so different on such an Earthlike planet, however, so he tried not to look up if he could help it.  The bluish gravel and reddish trees, however, were not much of a comfort to him.

            Odd colors aside, the environment surrounding the two was reminiscent of western Colorado.  Trip had spent much of his youth there, since that was where much of his mother's family resided.  He had gone hiking in the mountains with some of his cousins during every spring break he could recall.  Trip's favorite mountain vista was not from any mountain peak, for he hated heights, but Sprague Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park.  It was quite an easy hike, but long, and the lake scenery was definitely worth the journey.  There was some of every form of wildlife there; it was untouched and natural.  There were many large boulders adjacent to the path where he and his relatives would lay out a blanket and eat lunch.  His fondest memory of the area was the time when a chipmunk had darted down from the tree his uncle Pete was reclining against and stolen a large portion of his sandwich.  Pete had chased the rodent back up the tree and cursed at the chipmunk for five minutes before realizing that his lunch was a lost cause.  Indeed, it was quite odd that the crooked tree he saw before him now resembled exactly the one he had taken a picture of on one of these excursions.  The photo was still on his living-room wall back home.  And there was that massive, distinctive boulder, just northeast of their present location.  He remembered that as well.  But it couldn't be real, not this far from home.  Could it?

            "Whoa," Trip whispered.  "Déjà vu."

            "Excuse me, Commander?" T'Pol inquired.

            Trip blinked hard a few times to clear his vision, then looked again at the mountain scenery before him.  The mountain scenery had changed, and now neither the crooked tree nor the jagged boulder were there.  He must have imagined them.  "Nothing.  Sorry, T'Pol.  But we should find a place to set up camp.  It'll be dark soon, and we're gonna need time to make a fire and pitch the tent."

            "According to my calculations, the sun will not set for another two hours.  That leaves us approximately an hour to continue traveling to our target site," T'Pol corrected.

            "T'Pol, you've never lived around mountains, have you?" Trip asked.

            "No," T'Pol stated.

            "Well, you see the mountain just northwest of us? In about an hour, the sun will be completely behind then.  The sky will still be light, but it'll be really dark down here.  And cold.  If we want to be able to see to get firewood so we don't freeze, we'd better get settled."

            Though she wasn't comfortable deferring to this illogical human, T'Pol chose to do so, if only because he had more experience in alpine climates.  "There is a clearing approximately one half kilometer south of here," she reported.

            "Looks good.  We can start picking up firewood along the way," Trip concluded.  They proceeded to the clearing without much conversation, stopping often to collect various pieces of dry wood.

            When they reached the field, T'Pol spoke again.  She had been remarkably taciturn all day, so Trip was pleased to hear her voice.  "Commander, I will set up the tent if you start a fire there—" she indicated an area of the clearing devoid of undergrowth—" and call the other team to apprise them of our situation, then I will set up the tent."

            "It's a deal."  Trip took T'Pol's share of the firewood along with his own to the site T'Pol had pointed out and set it down nearby.  He took some of the dried grass from the surrounding area for use as kindling and then piled wood on top of it, ensuring that there would be enough air to feed a fire.  Then Trip turned his back to T'Pol, looked back to make certain that she was focused on pitching the tent, drew his phaser, aimed and fired at the wood.  Just as it had on away missions before, the fire sprang to life and immediately started warming the rapidly cooling human.

            Trip then pulled his communicator from his arm pocket and hailed the other half of the team.

            "Hey, Mal, you there?  This is Trip."

            "Yes, Commander.  I hear you.  Are you both all right?" the lieutenant asked.

            "Fine.  Just wanted you to know that T'Pol and I've found a place to set up camp for the night.  We're in a clearing, at—" he fumbled for T'Pol's scanner—"six-oh-two mark four-seven.  Thought you should know, just in case," Trip reported.

            "Thank you, Commander," Malcolm replied.  "Ensign Mayweather and I have set up camp as well, at six-oh-four mark two-three. Reed out."  Trip deactivated the communicator and turned, seeing T'Pol attempting to hold one pole upright while hammering a stake into the ground.  The tent seemed to have other ideas, however, and kept collapsing.

            "Hey, T'Pol," Trip said as he sauntered over to T'Pol and held the tent upright, allowing the Vulcan to control her work.  "Thought you might need a couple more hands.  It helps to have someone else to help you when you're pitching a tent."

            T'Pol looked up at the engineer, said nothing but "Thank you," and turned back to her work.  T'Pol could be so frustrating at times.  If only Malcolm or somebody—anybody but T'Pol—had been assigned to climb to the mountain's summit and deuterium deposits.  That way, he wouldn't be as bored.  Trip sat down on the ground at his feet, sighed, and wished that the Vulcan would be a little more talkative.

            "Commander, would you like to eat dinner now?" T'Pol spoke, as if she had read his mind.  Trip looked up at her and found that the tent was completely set up.

            "Sure," Trip said.  "What's in the packs?"

            T'Pol raised an eyebrow.  "I packed one of every kind of food pack.  Why do you ask?"

            "Well, you asked if I was hungry…"

            "I did no such thing, Commander," T'Pol stated.  "I assure you."

            "Whatever," Trip shrugged.  If T'Pol wanted to play games with him, then he'd let her.

            "Commander, please aid me in setting up the tent," she requested.  Trip looked up again, and the tent was in its previous, half-assembled state, and Malcolm was standing there, helping T'Pol set up camp.

            "Okay.  Things are really starting to get weird here," he stated tremulously.  Nobody replied, so Trip elaborated anyway.  Even if nobody listened, talking out the problem would help him.  It always did.  "Earlier today, I looked up at the mountains and saw the park I used to go to when I was younger.  Then I heard you talk to me and saw that you had the tent up.  But it turns out—"  He looked up to gauge T'Pol's reaction and stopped mid-sentence.  She was kneeling in front of the tent—the _fully assembled_ tent— and rummaging through the food packs.

            "You said that you wanted the steak and mashed potatoes, correct?" T'Pol, who was alone now, inquired.  Trip wasn't sure of anything anymore.  It seemed as if his world was a cloak that was now slipping off of him, leaving him bare and open to every other potential reality.

            "Never mind," Trip said.  "I think I'll go to bed, try to sleep this off."

            Even Trip's sleeping bag was playing tricks on him.  There, inside the tent, was the same creature that had shared his sleeping quarters on the last uninhabited planet where he had gone camping.  Except this time there were two of them, then four, eight, sixteen, forever multiplying until there was no tent, simply insects, and not even that lasted.

            For then there was T'Pol, once again standing in front of the completed tent.  "Are you all right, Commander?" she asked, as flatly as ever.  At least if this reality was fake, it was convincing.  Trip strode over to T'Pol and grabbed her shoulder.

            "Are you real, Sub-Commander?" he asked.  "Is any of this world, this reality, this—" he gestured wildly, freeing T'Pol—"this _whatever it is real?"_

            "Yes," T'Pol replied, stepping slightly back.  She was definitely concerned for the commander.  He looked quite haggard and pale, and he had been saying some things that made no sense.  It was almost as if he were in another reality.

            "How do you know?  How the hell do you know that?  Maybe I'm just imagining this.  Maybe you're just imagining it.  Maybe it's the planet.  How can you tell?"

            "I see what I see, I hear what I hear, I feel what I feel.  Therefore, this is real to me.  Is this truly the best time to discuss philosophy, Commander?"

            But Trip had no time to answer before he was spiraling into a world as beautiful and ever-changing as the sunset that had silhouetted T'Pol's sleek body.  The colors were vivid, surrounding him, wrapping him in their beauty.  He was comfortable here.  He would stay here for the rest of time if he could.

            But the colors swirled once again, all reds and greens now, and T'Pol was standing in front of him once more, silently looking up at him.  He found himself unable to look away from her eyes, even as his reality changed once more.  He was in the Captain's ready room now, and without knowing why, he said "Trip.  I'm called Trip."

            "I'll try to remember that," T'Pol seemed to reply, even though she did not move, and Trip suddenly realized that this was where they had met.  Then, even more quietly, this time stepping toward Trip instead of away from him, she said "Trip…"

            Trip was overcome by this and leaned down slightly to kiss her, but then he was lying on the ground holding a phase pistol.  T'Pol was next to him, also firing at the Suliban soldiers that came at them from every direction, until he was in a cave rescuing T'Pol from the people who lived in the rocks, and then at the campsite once again.  T'Pol was still there, standing the same way she had a few minutes ago.

            "Are you real?" he asked once again, more weakly this time, as he sank to his knees and T'Pol followed him to remain at his eye level.

            "Yes," she replied softly.  She was unsure what to do.  She had never seen him so delirious before, not even when under the influence of that psychotropic pollen.  At least then, Trip had remained in one illusion.  This was much more chaotic and unstable, and she was poised for anything.  She had to speak to him while he was lucid, though, and try to ground him.

            "Prove it to me, T'Pol.  Please…"

            He was so fragile, so vulnerable in this condition.  Whatever was happening to him was tearing him apart; T'Pol could see that much.  Then Trip looked up and she saw two tears slipping down Trip's cheeks.  Something in T'Pol awoke, something primal and forbidden and wonderful and exhilarating all at the same time, and her only thought was to help Trip.  She had to do something.  She needed time, and she could only think of one solution at the moment.  T'Pol leaned closer to the commander and whispered something to him in Vulcan.

            Trip looked foggily up at her and asked "What?"

            "I said we are both real and nothing can change that," T'Pol replied.  She picked up his hand and placed it on the left side of her chest just below her collarbone, then placed her own right hand on Trip's heart.  Trip only looked at T'Pol in bewilderment.  "Can you feel my heartbeat?"  Trip nodded weakly.  "I can feel yours as well.  Let that be your assurance that no matter what you see around you, no matter what you hear or feel or taste, that you and I are both real," T'Pol whispered.

            She really had no idea what she was saying, but was so overcome by the concentrated emotions she felt upon touching him that her lips moved almost of their own accord.  T'Pol knew and controlled fear quite well, and pain and bewilderment, but there was something deeper permeating each of those layers of feeling, something primal and wild and enticing.  She had no context for this, no simple word or name, and found that she could not shed this feeling from her psyche as she did so often with other emotions every day.  It was as if Trip had unlocked a floodgate inside of her, one T'Pol didn't even know she had, and he had awakened the same emotions at her core.  She was powerless against them.  She felt as if she should simply pull away from Trip, but found herself unable to bring herself to do so.  Helping him was paramount, and if that meant extra meditation later, then so be it.

            And suddenly, they both spiraled down into another universe, still with one another, grasping onto each other desperately until they both landed.  T'Pol was uncertain, since her view into Trip's mind was quite limited, but they appeared to be in Decon together, rubbing gel on one another.  And yes—there was his hand caressing T'Pol's ear.  T'Pol somehow felt this as acutely as she had on the first day of their mission, but this time it seemed slightly different.  There was that strange emotion again, amplified in the pit of her stomach.  Since T'Pol could not seem to ignore it any longer, she acknowledged it and allowed herself to focus on Trip.  And now he was falling, ever faster, down a cliff that kept changing colors and shapes around him—now yellow, now purple, now a swirling rainbow of pastels—and T'Pol was there on the ground, ready to catch him when he finally reached her.  He was light in her arms, as if he had been flying rather than falling.  Trip smiled deliriously at T'Pol.

            She had to bring him back to lucidity.  Trip's breathing and heartbeat were becoming progressively more erratic as he spun deeper and deeper into the ever-shifting illusions, and the only thing T'Pol knew for certain at the moment was her need to help bring Trip back to himself.  She cast her mind deeper into his being, allowing him to see through her own eyes the shadows cast by the rapidly falling sun.  This did help the commander ground himself; he looked at T'Pol with intelligent eyes once more.

            "T'Pol," he whispered.  Trip was kneeling now, and T'Pol had sunk to her knees in response.  Their hands were still upon one another's chests.  "Help me… What is real anymore?"

            "I am," T'Pol breathed.  "and you are.  That is all that matters."

            "NO!" Trip screamed, pushing T'Pol onto her back and abruptly standing.  T'Pol blinked, startled by the rapid severance of their connection.  She recovered quickly, as a cat who has accidentally rolled off the bed and onto the carpet would, and wondered what illusion had prompted him to react so violently.  If he was going to be so unpredictable, it was vital that T'Pol help Trip ground himself permanently before he endangered himself.  Once that was taken care of, she would call the ship for advice.  Trip was now attacking the tent as if it was a wild animal he had cornered, circling around it and seeming to hold an invisible spear.  T'Pol tentatively moved nearer to him, careful not to startle the commander.  She needn't have worried, however, for when T'Pol got near him, Trip snapped his head around to face her.  Trip was staring at her with an intensely held focus, and T'Pol was certain that whatever else Trip saw, she was in his vision as well.  T'Pol remained mostly still and held her hands outstretched to show that she was unarmed.

            "I will not harm you," T'Pol informed Trip as she inched closer to him.  Her voice was gentle, comforting, and it seemed to draw Trip closer to her.

            "Qui est-que c'est?" Trip asked sharply, without removing his gaze from the petite Vulcan.  T'Pol didn't know much French, but one of her colleagues at the Vulcan compound had been an exolinguist who had studied French, among other Earth languages, and she had picked up a few pertinent phrases in her time with him.  Thus, T'Pol knew that Trip had just asked her who, or perhaps what, she was.

            "Je m'appelle T'Pol," she replied softly, unsure of whether she had gotten the verb to agree with the subject.  Whether or not she had done so was soon out of the question, for she was now standing face to face with Trip and was able to take his hands once more.  T'Pol closed her eyes and gently stroked the backs of his knuckles with two of her own fingertips.  Despite all of her training, every emotional and mental barrier she had carefully placed, T'Pol was shocked by the depth of the sensations she felt.  Trip's emotions as well as her own were coursing through her body, in defiance of all control.  His fear, his disorientation, his delight mingled with her own, more forbidden emotions, and T'Pol reeled at these sensations.  They deepened with every nanosecond she spent with the human, and she still wanted to feel more.  She struggled to control herself, but the tingling warmth continued to pulse through her body and she found herself unwilling to break contact with him, no matter how much her sense of logic screamed for her to do so.  T'Pol had shocked Trip into reality, and she intended to help him through any means possible.  There was one option left to her at the moment, and however distasteful she found it to be, it was completely necessary if she were to help the commander.

            T'Pol opened her eyes, careful to maintain eye contact, and was stunned by the beauty of Trip's eyes.  How had she never noticed before now the way they shone in the moonlight, reflecting all that he saw?  They looked gold in the light of the planet's dual moons, and the spots of light in them were like four more stars in the night sky, four more sparks floating upward from the fire behind her.  She could even see her own silhouette in his eyes, steady and dark against the tumult that reigned in his gaze.

            She mentally shook herself at allowing herself that emotional indulgence and focused herself on the task at hand.  T'Pol called up all of her strength and directed it at the delirious engineer who stood haggardly in front of her.  He seemed to relax as he absorbed some of T'Pol's calm and focus, and T'Pol tensed as she took in Trip's overwhelming emotion.  Her hands were shaking as she removed them from his; Trip's presence in her mind had been so powerful, so intoxicating, so—

            No.  She would not allow herself to think such things, and particularly about the commander.  She could not risk such ignominy as to feel so deeply for a human.  She would have to disregard the feelings her contact with Trip had stirred within her and continue working.

            "T'Pol?" Trip asked haltingly.  His eyes were bleary, as if he had been suddenly awakened from a dream and still wasn't sure whether he was truly awake yet.

            "Yes.  I am here," T'Pol whispered.

            "Call the ship…" Trip said, and promptly fainted.  T'Pol bent over his prone body, carefully checking each of her vital signs.  When she was convinced that Trip was in no immediate danger, she proceeded to retrieve her communicator from the tent, all the while admonishing herself that she should have done so as soon as Trip had exhibited strange behavior.  She had been foolish to believe she could do anything for him herself.  Except she _had helped him._

            "T'Pol to Enterprise," she said as she moved back to tend to Trip.

            "Enterprise here," Hoshi replied over the comm.

            "Please send a shuttlepod down, and have Doctor Phlox accompany the pilot."

            "Is there something the matter?" Archer asked from his station on the bridge.

            "Indeed," T'Pol reported.  "Commander Tucker became delirious approximately twenty minutes ago and is now unconscious."

            "OK, Sub-Commander.  I'll send Phlox down right now.  Archer out."

            "Thank you, Captain," T'Pol whispered, even though Hoshi had already cut off the comm signal.

            T'Pol busied herself for the next several minutes by preparing a landing site for the shuttlepod, but there were only a finite number of sticks and branches that could be moved from such a small area, and eventually she was left with only an unconscious human and her own thoughts as company.  Her thoughts were conflicted and disordered, and since this was not the ideal time or place to sort them out, she sat on the ground next to Trip and did her best to make him comfortable.  Her sleeping bag served as an excellent pillow, and she placed one of the duffels—T'Pol could tell by the scent that it was Trip's, even though they looked identical—under his feet to assist in the circulation of his blood, and slightly unzipped his uniform so he would have ample room to breathe.  T'Pol then felt an overwhelming impulse to place a hand on Trip's chest.  She knew she shouldn't; that sort of display was taboo for all but bondmates, but she didn't care.  T'Pol found the contact peculiarly soothing, for as long as she could feel his heartbeat, she knew Trip was still alive.

            His eyes were darting around under his closed eyelids, and T'Pol wondered what illusion he was experiencing now.  She hoped that he found whatever he saw pleasing, and then realized that he was smiling.  The now-familiar urge to do more than simply touch Trip surfaced in T'Pol once more, and as she attempted to suppress it, the shuttlepod landed in the area she had prepared.  Phlox stepped from the hatch, a worried expression gracing his features.

            "What is the commander's condition?" he asked as soon as he reached T'Pol's location.

            "He is stable at the moment; however, I believe he is still hallucinating," the Vulcan reported.

            "Indeed," Phlox said.  He knelt at Trip's side, running his scanner over the human's recumbent body.  "Hmm… That's odd.  There doesn't seem to be anything unusual in Commander Tucker's  body, nor do my scans of his brain show anything odd.  The commander appears to be dreaming.  I'd like to get him back to Enterprise so I can run more in-depth scans."

            "I concur," T'Pol stated.  Without further words, Phlox retrieved the stretcher from the shuttlepod, and he and T'Pol lifted Trip, setting him gently down onto it.  He was surprisingly light; T'Pol nearly raised the stretcher too quickly as a result of her overestimation of Trip's weight.

            Crewman Fuller, who was piloting the pod, lifted off as soon as the hatch had been secured, and wisely left T'Pol and Phlox to see to Trip.  The doctor was unable to do anything further for the commander, and so watched as T'Pol gingerly rested her palm on Trip's hand.  He wondered what had inspired the touch-sensitive Vulcan to ignore tradition and indulge in such a physical display, but remained quiet, choosing instead to monitor Trip's vital signs.

            Suddenly, Trip stirred slightly, turning his head to face the warm pressure he felt on his hands.  Without opening his eyes, he whispered "T'Pol?"

            "I am here…" T'Pol's voice was at its softest, lowest register, yet Trip both heard and felt her speak, and responded accordingly.

            "Thanks," he groggily replied before falling back into whatever reverie had possessed him.

~~~~~

            As T'Pol and Archer transferred Trip from the scanner to a biobed, Phlox pored over the results of his scans.  "That's interesting," he reported.  Upon glances from both the captain and T'Pol, he elaborated.  "Commander Tucker appears to have been stung by a Girennian blood fly."

            "Which is?" Archer inquired.

            "An insect indigenous to this sector.  Their stings cause hallucinations, disorientation, and eventual loss of consciousness, but they are only nuisances.  The commander will be fine once he wakes up," reported Phlox.

            Archer raised both his eyebrows.  "'Nuisances,' Doctor?"

            "Yes.  Their venom breaks down too quickly in the bloodstream to cause lasting harm.  It has not even been known to cause allergic reactions in any species."

            "That's good.  Is there any indication about when he will wake up?"

            "I can wake him now, if you wish," Phlox stated.

            "Good.  Then wake him," ordered the captain.  T'Pol, who had remained remarkably taciturn throughout this exchange, wordlessly handed the doctor a hypospray, which Phlox summarily set down.

            "Commander.  Commander Tucker… Wake up," Phlox said, lightly shaking Trip's shoulder.  Trip grunted, muttering something indistinguishable.  Then, he began to open his eyes.

            "T'Pol?  You here?" he groaned.  T'Pol raised an eyebrow, marveling at the fact that she had had this conversation before.

            "Yes," she whispered, the same way as before.

            "Thanks… Wait.  I said that already," Trip said, smiling, and turned to face T'Pol.

            "You are going to be fine, Mr. Tucker," Phlox reported to the commander.

            "I knew that, Doctor.  I heard you…"  Trip never turned away from the Vulcan.

            "Thanks for what, Commander?" T'Pol inquired softly.

            "Being there, T'Pol.  Whatever happened to me, whatever I saw or heard or felt, you were always right there with me.  You always caught me.  Thanks…" he whispered.  Only now did he turn to the doctor and captain.  "Can we please have a little time alone?"

            "Certainly," the doctor replied, and both Archer and Phlox left the area.

            T'Pol suppressed a slight wave of anxiety.  She knew what Trip wanted to talk to her about, and it wasn't a subject she would enjoy discussing.  However uncomfortable she was, she also knew that they would have to air this out eventually.

            "So what was that, exactly?" Trip asked.

            "What was what, Commander?"

            Trip decided that he hated it when T'Pol fielded one of his questions with another question.

            "Well, I know you touched my mind, but I don't get why you'd do that for me.  I didn't think you could stand me.  Why'd you share your mind with me like that?  It felt so weird…"

            "Commander, you underestimate me.  I am indeed able to stand you," T'Pol rebuffed.  "I am simply… unsettled by the emotions your presence provokes in me."

            "Must have been tough for you, then.  Touching my mind like that, I mean."

            "It was.  However," T'Pol continued before Trip was able to continue, "it was… gratifying for me to be able to help you."

            "I thought gratification was an emotional response," Trip teased.

            "As are many things I feel when you are involved," T'Pol replied as she perched on the edge of Trip's bed.

            Trip was stunned.  Was she saying what he thought she was saying?  Well, there was only one way to find out.  "And what about when you rubbed your fingers on my hand?  Didn't you once tell me that it was the Vulcan version of—"

            "A kiss," T'Pol finished.  "It is."

            "So why'd you kiss me?"

            T'Pol was speechless.  How could she explain it away?  At the time, she had justified the contact by telling herself that she'd needed to shock him, but that excuse now seemed as weak as the illusions that had seized Trip less than an hour ago.  T'Pol could find no suitable response, nothing to appease both herself and the human who lay in front of her.

            "That's all right," Trip said.  "I think I understand."  He then reached one hand up to T'Pol's face and stroked her cheek with the pads of his fingers, delighting in T'Pol's quickly stifled reaction.  "I could feel what you felt down there too, you know…"

            T'Pol only stood, turned, and left the room.  Trip sighed as Phlox and Archer ambled back to him, ready to check on him once more.

~~~~~

Well, there's part 1.  I'm working on the next part, but I'm holding it hostage until all y'all review for me.  You didn't think I'd just do another one-parter, now, did you?  If I did that, I wouldn't have any way to torture Sethoz.  ;)


	2. Truth

Disclaimer, etc. in Part 1

Additional spoilers: Breaking the Ice, Fusion

Writing is my job.  Feedback is yours (and I commend you for doing so well at it).  My email is HopefulNebula@hotmail.com in case you were interested.

Incidentally, I am now a moderator at the newest bulletin board on the (writer's) block.  Pop by if you want to join.

And thanks for waiting so long for this part.  Peace!

~~~~~

_And I was drifting away_

_like a drop in the ocean_

_And now I realize that_

_nothing has been as beautiful_

_As when I saw heaven's skies_

_In your eyes_

~Michelle Branch, "Drop in the Ocean"

~~~~~

            T'Pol sat in her quarters, feigning meditation.  Though she had originally tried to meditate (or so she had assured herself), her concentration had continually faltered and, after several minutes of fighting off the visions of Commander Tucker that stubbornly refused to extricate themselves from her mind, she had elected to sort out her thoughts before attempting once more to find serenity.

            _I don't get why you'd do that for me, he'd said.  T'Pol didn't understand her own actions, either.  It was disconcerting for her to be unable to fathom her own self; her lack of explanations for her actions over the past several hours was even more disturbing to her.  She had __touched him, not only physically, but in the most intimate manner possible.  What had spurred her to do that when the most logical recourse for her at the time would have been to call the ship for assistance?  What, if anything, had she gained by being so open with him?  T'Pol had no answers, and this unsettled her even further.  All these questions were more disquieting for her than her gaze into Trip's eyes had been earlier that day._

            Trip had told her _I think I understand_.  T'Pol wished she could say the same.  _If he truly does, then perhaps he can aid me,_ she mused before standing.

~~~~~

            "What was that, Trip?" Archer inquired once he was at Trip's bedside.

            "What was what, Captain?"

            "Don't give me that.  You know what," admonished the captain.  "Why'd you just touch her like that?"

            Trip winced.  He was caught.  Dead meat.  "I thought I said I wanted privacy, Jon."

            "And you had it," the older man said, surprised by Trip's use of his first name while he was on duty.  I have no idea what you two were talking about; I just saw you touching her face."

            "Come on, Captain.  I don't want to talk about this and you know it."

            "Trip, I just—"

            "Phlox, d'you need to keep me for anything?" Trip intoned, effectively silencing Archer.  The captain knew when he had been beaten, and this was one of those times.  Therefore, he wisely remained silent and let Phlox reply.

            "I see no reason why you should stay here," Phlox said.  "Just be sure to get a lot of sleep and see me tomorrow morning so I can be certain the blood fly's sting has not affected you adversely.  And it would be best if the Commander did not have to work tomorrow." He addressed this final comment to Archer, who nodded his approval.

            "OK.  See you then, Doc."  Trip summarily stood, wobbled slightly (for he had gotten up a bit too quickly), and left the room as soon as he had steadied himself.  Archer left Sickbay soon after, but decided against following the engineer.

~~~~~

            Trip couldn't sleep.  He hadn't even tried, and he wasn't about to.  There was too much for him to think about for him to even lie down, let alone sleep.  He had already raided the mess hall, though there was nothing appetizing available there.  Regardless of whether Trip had even been hungry, however, the biggest thing he was missing in the mess hall had been T'Pol.  He wanted so badly to see her again, to talk to her.  He needed to talk to her.  They had been so close, so agonizingly near to… well, _something_ important that very desperately needed to be said.

            And she had kissed him.  What did that mean for him, for her, for _them_?  Why had she been so intimate with him when he had been certain she hated him?  And he had enjoyed it all.  Even while he had shoved her away to save her from an imaginary tiger, he had loved touching her.  He didn't regret what he had done in Sickbay, though he would probably regret the consequences of his actions later.  It was all too confusing, and Trip hated being confused.

_            Maybe sometime when this all cools down, _deliberated Trip, _I'll get her to teach me to meditate.  God knows I need to relax…_

            For the second time that day, Trip heaved a massive sigh.  Things were just never simple around T'Pol, and they were going to get a lot more complicated.

            _I'd better talk to her, he decided.  _Work something out between us…__

            Trip abruptly left his quarters, hoping T'Pol wasn't meditating.

~~~~~

            Twenty minutes later, T'Pol had visited Sickbay, Trip's quarters, and the mess hall, and the commander still seemed to be eluding her.  She sighed.  Perhaps she could use her computer to ascertain his location, or at least use the comm in privacy, she decided, and quickly walked to her quarters.  So lost in her reverie was she as she walked that at a junction in the corridor, she ran into a group of crewmen, barely acknowledging their presence as she continued on her way.

~~~~~

            Trip was beginning to get frustrated.  This was the fifth time he had pressed her door chime, and she still hadn't responded to him.  Was she purposely ignoring him?  It probably served him right if she were, Trip decided.  He _had kissed her, albeit without using his lips, and he hadn't been delirious at the time, either.  He wouldn't be surprised if she never spoke to him again._

            "God damn it, where are you, T'Pol?" he whispered for his own benefit.  Nobody was ever going to answer him, and it was his fault alone.  In order for him to survive, however, he needed to hope, and so he hoped that she was there. He turned to face the bulkhead opposite T'Pol's door and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

            And suddenly, she was right behind him.  "Why are you outside my quarters, Commander?"

            Trip turned and looked up with a start, face swiftly turning red.  "You're real, right?" he joked, hoping to distract T'Pol, however slightly.

            T'Pol showed no reaction.  She didn't even raise her eyebrow, and Trip had thought his comment would garner at least that.  Instead, T'Pol simply repeated herself.  "Why are you here?"

            "I was looking for you," replied Trip with a sheepish grin.

            Only now did T'Pol raise her eyebrow.  How Trip hated it when any other Vulcan did that, but he liked it when T'Pol did.  The mannerism always reminded him of her.

            "And I was searching for you," T'Pol conceded.

            "Well, you found me…"

            "We must talk," T'Pol stated softly.  Trip nodded in agreement.  Gracefully, silently, T'Pol pivoted on the balls of her feet and pressed the button that opened the door to her quarters.  Surprisingly, she stood aside so Trip could enter first.

            T'Pol's quarters looked the same as they had the last time Trip had entered them.  Several candles burned, spreading their light and warmth throughout the room; it seemed that in her haste to find Trip, T'Pol had neglected to extinguish them.  He was glad.  The glow they created inside the small room not only illuminated the objects inside the room, but cast an otherworldly flickering glow upon T'Pol's face and eyes.  Her eyes right then seemed lighter than usual, and the candles' flames were reflected in her pupils.  The effect created was that of a wry smile, nearly a smirk, without even the slightest upturn of T'Pol's mouth, and Trip enjoyed seeing it immensely.

            This silence seemed to envelop the two after they sat facing each other; it encompassed them, growing more and more prevalent until it became too much for either.  Not surprisingly, Trip was the one more profoundly impacted by the quiet, so he spoke first.

            "So, um… How should we start?" he asked hesitantly.

            "It would be logical for me to begin by asking you why you touched me in Sickbay."

            "But wouldn't it be more logical for me to ask _you_ why you kissed me down on the planet?" Trip countered.  T'Pol raised both eyebrows, a gesture which Trip correctly interpreted as one of surprise.

            "I thought you said that you understood my motives," T'Pol demurred.  

            "I said I _thought I understood them."_

            "Elaborate." Now _this_ was the T'Pol that Trip knew.

            "Well…" Trip squirmed.  It unsettled T'Pol to be making him so uncomfortable, but this conversation was necessary for both of them.  When he spoke again, it was haltingly; his speech was peppered by "um" and the like.  "When you… when you kissed me, it was the best thing I'd ever felt.  I was touching your body and your mind and your soul all at once; it was like—like I finally understood you.  I felt… complete somehow.  And then you looked into my eyes and I knew."

            "Knew what, Commander?" prodded T'Pol.

            "That I have it bad for you," Trip declared.

            "'Have it bad?'" T'Pol inquired, unfamiliar with most of the human vernacular, but particularly that of the man who presently sat in front of her.

            "Love, T'Pol."  There.  He had said it, or at least whispered it in the barest excuse for a voice.  _T'Pol's gonna kill me, or at least use that pinch, he thought, but still he kept talking__.  "I've loved you for a while now, I think.  It just got so deep after I saw your eyes.  I don't think I can pretend not to love you anymore."_

            It was T'Pol's turn to squirm slightly.  "And what bearing does that have on why I kissed you?"

            "Well, I have two ideas.  The first is that when you touched my mind for the first time, you picked up some of those feelings from me and had no way to control them," Trip explained.

            "That would be… logical," conceded T'Pol, who was still unsettled by Trip's declaration.  She had no idea what the implications of such an emotion would be, let alone what it truly meant.  Then something came to her.  "What of the other theory?"

            "My other theory is…"  Trip trailed off.  How stupid would it be for him to articulate this idea?  How much of it was objective and not simply hope?  There were too many questions.  "…probably wrong," he amended.  "Never mind about that."

            "No.  Please… I would like to hear it," T'Pol said.  Her voice was the softest Trip had ever heard from her.  He thought of how stringent her voice had seemed to him only two years ago compared to how gentle, how beautiful it was for him to hear now.  There was a certain vulnerability in her tone at the moment that almost brought Trip to pity her; it was enough for him to tell her his other idea.

            "Well, um… You see… I think that maybe—_just_ _maybe—and this is very unlikely, you know—"_

            "Commander…"

            "Sorry.  I—I think that you might have some of the same feelings for me."  This last sentence was spoken in a rush of words that blurred together, getting in each other's way as they left his mouth for T'Pol's ears.

            The silence once again hung in the air between them.  It was thick; nearly visible, but both human and Vulcan were still incredibly aware of each other's presence.  Trip had seen her increasingly more clearly as the world had faded around him, and that sensation now returned to him.  He saw every one of her nuances, every physical imperfection on her face, and he still saw her as perfect.  He watched her facial muscles tense, almost imperceptibly, and her lips move.

            "It is more likely that you have projected your _human_ emotions onto me," T'Pol said.  The softness in her voice had been replaced by something harder, something more primal and unsettled, not quite controlled.

            "Yeah, I thought so."  They lapsed into a falsely peaceful silence for a moment.  There seemed to be a slight breeze blowing between them, but it was simply the ventilation system cleansing the air in T'Pol's quarters.  Once again, it was too much for both man and woman, so T'Pol was relieved when Trip spoke again.  "I—I'd better get going.  The doc says I still need sleep.  See you tomorrow, T'Pol?  I'm technically off duty, but there'll probably be dinner."  There was no response whatsoever from T'Pol's side of the room, so Trip scurried off, all the while admonishing himself for his stupidity in declaring his love for a Vulcan.  He could have sworn for a moment as the doors shut behind him that he heard somebody whispering "good night, Trip."  But that was just one more illusion.

            For the second time that day, he banged his head on the wall opposite T'Pol's door, much to the annoyance of Crewman Fuller.

~~~~~

            T'Pol had not realized the effect that Commander Tucker had on her until her doors had shut behind him, leaving only his wake, his scent, and his words behind.  Each time they exchanged words, T'Pol left the conversation feeling unsettled and downright _emotional.  Not long after she meticulously suppressed each of the sensations that his presence wrought upon her consciousness, she would come back to him once again, without bothering to understand why she subjected herself to such emotion.  All of this was therefore her own fault, T'Pol decided.  Humans could not control their emotions, and Vulcans could, except she couldn't control herself anymore.  If she had been able to control herself around this man, then she would not currently be in this predicament, she chided herself.  For what seemed the thousandth time, T'Pol shifted, uncomfortable in her former position, but no more relaxed in the newer one._

            Commander Tucker had seen what she could not; it had been his own alien, primal emotions that had affected T'Pol so deeply.  The feelings that had caused T'Pol to reel at first, then attracted her, then controlled her, now repulsed her were simply not her own.  What a simple explanation.  It was so straightforward, so obvious, that it had to be true.  Yet she was still unsettled, still emotional, still unable to find peace.  Logically, since she now knew the truth, she should be serene.  That was the nature of emotions, though; they defied all logic.  T'Pol turned her attentions to accepting that so she could control herself once more, but one question still burned in her consciousness as if it had branded itself upon her brain:

            _Why had she felt stirrings of those emotions before _touching his mind_?_

            Well, the Commander was _still_ correct, decided T'Pol, amazed at what startling revelations could come from emotions.  Perhaps, she conceded, an occasional lapse of control could be beneficial.

            And she still needed to talk to him.

~~~~~

            There was nothing appetizing in the Mess Hall, not that Trip had looked very hard through the shelves.  He just sat, melancholy, at one of the window tables, entirely alone.  It was the worst feeling imaginable, being one person in a sea of empty tables, with nobody around to distract him from the feeling that had been growing in the pit of his stomach since he had awakened in Sickbay less than half an hour ago.  He had even considered taking the fruitcake that Chef had prepared a week earlier and smashing it over his head, just so something would happen.

            The doors swished open behind him, and Trip lowered his head against the table.  Tonight of all nights, he didn't want to make small talk with anybody.

            The footsteps slowly, tentatively approached—click, click, click—and with every _click that neared him, Trip mentally willed the intruder to get his food and leave.  Maybe the stranger would take that fruitcake._

            However, he had no such luck, and his thoughts were all swearing when he felt a hand rest against his shoulder blade.  The hand was far too small to be a man's hand; it felt vaguely familiar.  Then she spoke, and he knew.

            "Commander, are you all right?"  T'Pol's voice held that elusive softness once again; it sent a tiny electric spasm racing up his spine that both of them felt.  Her presence was electric and vibrant; it made every cell in his prone body glow with a quiet, exotic warmth that seemed to beckon to him, make him want more.

            "Yeah," he murmured, voice muffled by his sleeve.  He didn't want to look at her, not now; he was too unsure of how he would react to the sight of her face.

            "We must talk," she said, nearly whispering.  The past day seemed to be a haven for conversations that repeated themselves.

            "About what?" inquired Trip, who only now looked up and faced T'Pol, who had sat down in the seat next to him.  "I've already talked with you enough to embarrass me for the rest of my life.  What more can I say to alienate you?"

            "Had you alienated me, Commander, I would not be speaking to you right now," T'Pol countered.  "And may I remind you that I am already an alien to you?" she added after a short beat.

            "Of course you can, T—" He paused as something occurred to him.  "D'you mind it when I call you T'Pol, or should I just call you Sub-Commander?" he asked for the first time in two years.

            T'Pol blinked in surprise.  Perhaps _she was hallucinating.  She only entertained that idea for a moment, however, for she was in the presence of the most real person she had ever known.  And now that man was awaiting a response.  "You may call me by either title."  She thought for a moment, then spoke again.  "And what would you prefer I call you when we are both off duty?"_

            The effect of her question on Trip was double the impact Trip's question had had on T'Pol.  He remained silent for a moment, then began stammering.  "Well—I, um—I really don't know.  What do you want to call me?"  She opened her mouth to speak, but Trip interrupted her before she could say a word.  "Anything that isn't 'Mr. Tucker' or 'Commander.'  You're looking for something more casual to call me, right?"

            "Indeed," T'Pol said flatly.  Before she made a decision, however, she had to know.  She'd wanted to find this out since she first heard him tell her to call him Trip on that day nearly two years ago.   "But I must know… why do you call yourself Trip?"

            "Well, that's a long story.  Basically… I was once a regular customer at this club by the Academy, and when I was in a spot for money, I was a waiter there for a little while.  So there I was, in the god-awful uniform they made us wear, carrying a tray with eight beers on it.  Some guy was pulling out his chair while I was passing, and I ran into him.  Fell flat onto my face and spilled the beers onto a table full of beautiful ladies.  I've never been so embarrassed."  _At least not until tonight, he thought with chagrin.  "Well, those girls all came back the next day and started calling me Trip.  And it kinda stuck."_

            T'Pol raised her eyebrow.  She could easily imagine a younger Trip attempting to balance himself with similar results.  Yet somehow, she just could not call him Trip.  Her reluctance was not stemmed from a particular disdain for the nickname in particular, but of concern for her sense of control.  If she lapsed and addressed him so casually, she mused, then she would in all probability lose what small amount of control she exerted over her thoughts and emotions when he was near.  "Is…" she pondered for a moment: what would be appropriate for her to call him?  Certainly not 'Charles'.  He hated that and only used it officially.  'Charlie' was far too informal for her liking, and since she had already eliminated 'Trip' from her list of options,  she made the logical choice.  "Is 'Tucker' acceptable?" she inquired.

            Trip felt stunned, but stubbornly refused to look it.  When he opened his mouth, though, his words gave his emotional state away.  "Yeah—um, sure.  You can call me that.  Dexter Levandoski at my middle school used to call me that and rhyme it with… well, something else, but I like it when you say it."  Hell, she could call him by that other word and Trip would adore it.

            T'Pol pondered for a second, then nodded in agreement.

            "So Tucker it is, then.  But I don't think that's why you're down here right now."

            "Indeed it isn't, Tucker," she said, with only a slight pause before saying the name that they had agreed upon for him.  "I think…" here she took a cleansing breath before continuing, "that your second theory was in fact correct.  I believe that I may—possibly—subconsciously harbor… _feelings_ toward you," she finished.  There was more trepidation in her voice than Trip had ever heard from her.  And was that a hint of disdain (or perhaps something else entirely) in the way she had said _feelings_?  She was just full of surprises this evening.

            "Oh, really?" Trip replied, perhaps a little too smugly.  Then something else occurred to him.  "What kind of feelings?"

            T'Pol found herself unable to respond.  She had no way of understanding these wild emotions, let alone finding words to describe them.  For how could she denote in simple words the way she felt in his presence?  It was as if she were forced to describe a gliding bird.  She could delineate every loop in the air, every swish of the wings, every minute adjustment of the muscles that enabled the bird to remain airborne, and she could even use any number of algorithms to explain the flight mechanisms and the eddies of air that lifted the creature further into the sky, but there was still something missing from any account she could give of the flight.  There always would be something entirely ineffable about that bird, something nobody could describe even after a lifetime of trying, and the same problem faced her now.

            There were so many emotions to sort through, so many stray thoughts taking her mind over, so many forbidden sensations running through her veins, and so few words for them.  Never before had she felt so chaotic, not even during her encounter with Tolaris.  Perhaps, she hypothesized, this was because these emotions were entirely her own, descending upon her of their own volition rather than being forced upon her by anyone else.  

            And she did know many of these sensations far too well; they only became so overwhelming when they all existed in her at once, swirling together and mixing into something far too great to comprehend.  She knew fear.  She knew apprehension, happiness, anticipation, embarrassment, joy.  There were still more unfamiliar emotions, compounding and cementing into her mind and soul those she did know.  She knew that the way her body reacted to his mere presence in the room was attraction—purely _physical attraction, she reminded herself—and that she was supposed to be able to control each of these.  And yet she couldn't._

            "T'Pol?  You okay?" Trip inquired.  Her extended silence had not been lost on him, and he was quite worried about her condition.  The last time he had seen her so unsettled by something was before she broke off her betrothal.  At least then, she had looked well.  Now, though, her face had turned a pale green under the bronze tint of her skin, if only for a moment.  Whatever it was had passed and been replaced by the rigid pretense of self-control with which he was far too familiar.  Trip considered himself lucky to be able to see past T'Pol's overt Vulcan nature and discern the true self that perhaps even T'Pol refused to acknowledge.

            And she still wasn't saying anything.

            "T'Pol?  Talk to me here…"

            The tone of worry in Trip's voice was enough to cause another rise of raw emotion to rush through T'Pol.  What could she say to him that would not belie everything she had so carefully worked to create, everything she was struggling to keep up now?  She had to speak soon or face the negative consequences of not speaking to him.  And the truth was, she _did_ want to speak to him.  She _wanted to be in his presence.  She wanted him to touch her so she could feel her breath catch inside her once more.  She wanted so badly to take his hand and not let go that she was actually considering doing just that.  And most desperately of all, she wanted to be able to acknowledge these without fear of recourse._

            _But what harm could come from telling him alone? she reasoned.  __He has proven himself to be discreet, understanding and compassionate.  Perhaps this exchange can yet prove beneficial._

            "What I feel for you," she began, "is… much more intense than anything I have felt before.  There are elements of these emotions that I can name, but I cannot be at peace knowing only those."

            "That's a problem.  Is there any way I can help you out?" Trip asked uncertainly, almost timidly.  It unsettled T'Pol that this man was timid now of all times.

            But this question had an answer.  "I believe so.  However, it would require further mental… intimacy between us," she added.

            "And you don't think that touching my mind again would be a good idea for either of us," Trip finished.

            What an astute observation of him.  Perhaps he was more logical than she had thought, T'Pol decided.

            As if he were sensing her thoughts already, Trip added "You know, I can control myself a lot more than you give me credit for.  Give it a try, see what happens.  You'd be surprised."

            T'Pol closed her eyes briefly under the pretense of making a decision.  She already knew she would go through with touching his mind again, but regardless of how disorderly her mind was, she was still going to at least center herself beforehand.  Once this task was completed, she snapped her eyes open and looked into his.  How had she not noticed before last night the intensity, the splendor, the exquisite depth of his hypnotic star-flecked gaze?  "Take my hands," she ordered softly.  Trip complied.

            His hands were calloused from work and somewhat dirty from the away mission, yet his skin was soft, as T'Pol had remembered, and well cared for.  T'Pol found a tiny scar on his right hand and felt Trip react to her when she touched that.  Apparently, this scar had been created rather recently.  She moved her hand from that location.

            "Close your eyes and try to relax," she instructed.  "Clear your mind of whatever stray thoughts you can." Her voice dropped in volume, returning to the softness of which Trip was so fond.  "Simply let your mind drift.  I will project my emotions to you, and you may be able to help me understand them.  Do you understand?"  Trip nodded.

            T'Pol took one large, long, deep breath, holding it for a moment and then releasing it as slowly as she had released it, to help her focus her telepathic abilities and opened her mind, taking every mental barrier down.  How liberating, how invigorating it was to not have to expend every ounce of concentration and energy on blocking out the impressions she felt.  Quickly she shook herself from that observation—she would deal with it later—and focused on her emotions.  Surprisingly, she could not make them stronger through concentrating on them.  Whenever she was able to isolate them so she could project them to Trip, they receded from her grasp like _sehlat on her homeworld would from a sandstorm.  Emotions such as these required a more roundabout approach.  Surmising that more intimate contact with him would bring her emotions to the surface of her consciousness, she amplified her connection with the human._

            This worked.  She was suddenly overcome by the sheer intensity of her own primal nature as it washed over her and spilled over into the mind adjacent to her own.  Had she ever felt something so strong before?  Yes, she decided, and quite recently.  She had simply attributed them to Trip rather than acknowledging that these emotions were her own.

            "T'Pol?" Trip asked for the second time that night, even as he mused about how intense these feelings were.  One thing was certain to him: no matter what happened, he would never again look down on the Vulcans for their strict emotional control.  "You okay?"  Only then did he notice that her hands were trembling in his.  T'Pol only had the composure to nod, and Trip sensed rather than saw this response.  Now that he was lucid, he could marvel in the sensations inherent to the link that T'Pol had bridged between them.  It was strange in the same way that his first roller coaster ride had been: scary at first, but then as he grew accustomed to the motion, more exhilarating than anything else.  And he knew—inexplicably, for certain, but _knew_ nonetheless without feeling even a shred of the doubt he often felt about his own emotions—that T'Pol was feeling the same thing.  He sensed that she knew her feelings were indeed the deepest kind of love imaginable: the kind that is forbidden and suppressed for countless ages, growing stronger and permeating the soul more deeply with each passing instant until the lover becomes saturated until she can express her feelings. It was the same kind of love that he had felt and ignored or disavowed since the first time he had felt her touch warming his frozen back.  She had admitted in Sickbay that his presence invoked emotions in her, but she had stopped short of acknowledging her own desires until just that moment.  A major barrier in T'Pol had just broken, allowing everything she had ever felt in his presence to become free.

            "T'Pol—" he began, but was barred from saying anything further by a surge of passion so intense, so fiery, so overwhelming, that he nearly blacked out.  She had just opened her eyes and seen Trip as if for the first time.  He had never before felt anything so pure, so unequivocal.  Just as soon as he had regained his own composure and opened his eyes, however, he realized that the passion had subsided and T'Pol had removed her hands from his own.  "So we both feel the same way, hmm?"

            "It would appear so," replied T'Pol.  "May… may I touch you again?  It is very pleasant."

            "Sure thing."  Trip had been expecting her to touch his hand again, so he was stunned when her hand brushed lightly against his cheekbone and slid down to rest against his chin.  It was nothing he had ever felt before.  He had done his share of kissing, of course, but this was more passionate, more sensual, more all-encompassing than any kiss he could imagine.  Her hand was warm against his skin and the warmth made his soul glow even further.  It just felt so damn good to be near her, to look into her eyes.

            And T'Pol, for her part, was surprised by the sensations her own body felt.  In his presence, she was more alive than she had ever felt before.  Every nerve in her small frame tingled, exploding in pure white light and bringing her body, her soul, her life closer to Trip's.  She loved this man.  It was as simple as that.

            And she was finally serene, even in the face of such uncontrollable emotion.

~~~~~

END

~~~~~


End file.
